Smt Aekka SakkuBai (1936-2010)

My mother, Smt. Aekka Sakkubai, breathed her last at the age of 74 on November 18, 2010,  at 2:30 p.m. at our house in Vidyanagar Hyderabad.

She raised her seven children to be successful. We grew to be engineers, a banker, schoolteachers and a social worker. Though she only studied until the fourth grade and only knew to sign her name (a skill that took her five minutes to do),  our mother made sure all of her children were educated in good schools without compromise.

Mom (Amma in Telugu)  came from a wealthy family and was married off at the age of 12. My father's side was strong in education. My father completed his civil engineering diploma during Nizam Era in Urdu. My brothers and sisters and I grew up in Aliabad in the Old City, a mile from Charminar on the way to Falaknuma Palace. Due to an early split in family property, my father had to move out of the ancestral house. He built a new house close by under difficult financial circumstances.

During my childhood, there were moments of  poverty -- sometimes we finished off our meals with just chili powder and cooking oil . The financial planner under these extreme conditions was my mother, who had neither a counting nor an accounting  background. For one of my cousin's marriage, all my brothers including me got flowers print cotton shirts. After many years, I learnt that my mother instead of buying from an expensive cloth store, she bought white cotton cloth and got flowers printed at a sari printing facility. She was extremely good with money matters and understood interest rates and mind-boggling chit funds. Frugality guided her decision-making.

I remember her typical day would start at 5:30 a.m. and she worked unflaggingly till 3:30 p.m. Her workday included heating water for showers, tea, breakfasts, packing lunches for seven kids, a special meal for my father, cleaning clothes and dishes and finally getting time for her own shower and prayer and a quiet, small meal at 3:30 in the veranda sunlight.

During the summers of my childhood, she would volunteer to make the yearly supply of chili powder for our relatives. It used to be a days-long project to  pulverize the dried red chilis into powder using round wooden posts (rokali in telugu). The supervisor for Operation Chili Powder was always my mother. I used to hate those days because children couldn’t play on the verandah and could not walk into the house without having tearing, irritating eyes. Throughout my life, I never heard my mother say, ”I am tired today”. She would face down big projects like summer cleanups or house painting and, without procrastination, immediately tackle the work for hours.  

My grandparents were from another Old City bastion called Dhoolpet - place notorious for illicit liquor in Hyderabad. Our summer vacation was mostly spent in Dhoolpet. The journey from Aliabad to Dhoolpet was always interesting. Those days in the Old City, we used to have rickshaw pullers. My mother, a brother and two sisters would sit on the main seat. Our eldest brother used to stand on the rickshaw top -- the premium seating. Three of us brothers would sit on the tray below the seat and hold the seat rings. I wish we had cameras those days. It would have been an fantastic visual . The journey would almost take an hour to travel 5 kilometers. We would pass all the important Nizami milestones -- Mecca Masjid, Laad Bazaar, Mir Chowk, Hussaini Alam, Purana Pul and Jaali Hanuman before finally reaching Dhoolpet. The journey was always marred with interruptions like us getting down to push the rickshaw during steep inclines. Once we arrived at our grandparents’ home in Dhoolpet, it would take the next half-hour to bring our numb legs to life.

My mother had an amazing presence. During my childhood, if she had gone to the city and was late coming home, our house would be dull like an abandoned house . I used to wait at the door anxiously, looking out at the street.  Suddenly, she would emerge from the bus stand, her walk home brightening up the whole street. She had a calming, exuberant presence and could ease everyone’s anxieties.  

She was also persistent. During our house construction in 1975, she wanted to change the staircase plan. She discussed her plans with the site supervisors. Finally, everyone, including my engineer dad, had to agree with her suggestion.

She was also the most organized person. She would  recycle almost everything, making quilts out of saris, transforming wood from chairs into beds and making innovative use of boxes. Our typical family vacation when I was a child was to either Yadagiri Gutta or Tirupati. She would pack for everyone. During the journey, if you needed anything – a  safety pin, comb, hot tea, a snack – she would provide it.

Amma had many strengths, especially courage. You might think, “What does a housewife know of courage?”  The role she played in life was as challenging as that of a war general. She was like a rock in the face of calamities,  dealing with her daughter's unarranged marriage in 1980, my father’s psychological bouts,  the loss of her brother and, finally, my father's sudden death in 1996.

Amma always had a giving hand despite her own struggling finances. She always fought for the underprivileged in family and beyond. She would give them comfort, a listening ear and as much financial help as she could afford. She could detect worries just by looking into someone’s face. She took a keen interest in fixing marriage alliances, mostly representing girls' families. She also gave the gift of her eyes to help others. In one of the free eye camps that I sponsored few years back, Amma signed up to donate her eyes after her death. Because of her generous act, someone can see today. That is her last gift to this world.

When she visited me in the United States in 1997, she would fold the kitchen paper towel after drying her hands. She said, “How can you throw away a precious thing like this in this country?”. I still remember after  I picked her up from the airport and we sat down to eat at our dining table. Suddenly, I see her hand reach to serve me rice and curry. Having lived in this country for so long, I had forgotten  I have someone other than my wife to serve me dinner in my house. I realized that it was my mother sitting next to me and she raised us even before our wives entered our lives. In the United States, she would visit my friends. If anyone was looking for a job, she would ask me to find a job for them. I would reply that in order to get a job, one has to have additional skills like good communications, maintain eye contact and a strong handshake showing confidence. She would immediately cite a couple of my other friends who don't interact much and question how they got a job without having such skills.

She was very jovial and open to listen to our personal and professional issues, including layoffs. She was equally fond of politics and ETV serials

She never hesitated to stand by someone during their bad days.  She took a personal interest in my friends' families and their children. As a mother-in-law, she was very commanding and always above petty kitchen politics  with her five daughters-in-law. She was  empathetic and compassionate. She lived to see her granddaughters marry, too.

Every month, she would plan a visit to the Old City bank to draw my father's pension. I accompanied her once during my trip to India. It was indeed a full-day job. She would take me to see my cousin who fills out bank withdrawal forms. I offered to help, but she said, "You don't know. It has to be in a particular order and only he can fill out the form". Then we wait in a long line at the bank until it is finally her turn to draw money. In the evening, she would celebrate with her sister-in-law and my cousin in the Old City for a successful pension withdrawal. She was always contended & self-sufficient with finances.

She had excellent memory. She would recognize her medications just by the colors and patterns of the medication strip. Once while in Hyderabad, I went to the nearby medical shop to get her prescription filled. She looked at the medication strip for some time, then said, “This is not mine.” I went to the shop and the pharmacist apologized for giving me the wrong medication.
One of my proudest accomplishments was that, despite living in the United States for the past 12 years, I celebrated almost every New Year’s with Amma in India. While in US, I used to talk to her almost daily.

I learned many important life lessons from my mom:

• Never lose courage in the face of calamity. Always remain calm and tackle a problem head-on instead of running away or avoiding it. Her life was filled with new situations and challenges. She  always approached these  courageously. She never had a sleepless night. No matter what, she always fell into a deep sleep within seconds.
• Have empathy and compassion for the downtrodden and poor. My mother once traveled by road to Shirdi. She was sad a whole week after her return. I asked her the reason and she said she couldn't bear the sights of poverty she passed on her route, especially in Maharashtra
• Have fun in life. My mother  was the first one to organize a party and never missed an opportunity to attend marriages, birthdays and other celebrations. Even in the midst of life’s problems,  she would surround  herself with her children, laughter and celebrations.

• Always love your family members,  no matter what .She was the only girl in a  family with seven  sons. She always looked out for them and their children.
• It is very expensive to maintain enmity.  Make every effort to clear up misunderstandings and always take the first step to befriend an upset friend or relative.
Her only solace in life was God and she was a big devotee of Lord Shiva. My father introduced her to Kundalini yoga, Hare Krishna, etc.. All her life, she  fasted for Ekadashi (Lunar 10th day) and I remember that she would have a sumptuous lunch for Dwadashi (Lunar 11th day) after prolonged pooja and 24 hours of fasting every fortnight. Many said she died on an auspicious Ksheerabdi Dwadasi day in divine Karthika maasam due to her spiritual lifestyle.

Though it is painful to accept that she is gone, mom had a full life, one of challenges, courage and lots of fun. Prolonging her life would have been excruciatingly painful for her and all of us because of her medical condition.

God's greatest gift to mankind is Mother and she will always be in her children’s hearts while on earth or in heaven.

- Venkat Aekka
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